


All the Cracks Within the Frame

by illyria13



Series: The Beginning Is The End [2]
Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: M/M, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyria13/pseuds/illyria13
Summary: SequelNot everyone gets a second chance, and in his case, it’s actually a third. Sam isn’t going to let it go to waste.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics, quotes or characters. 
> 
> AN: Umm…hi? It’s been a really long time since I’ve posted anything and honestly, I wasn’t sure I ever would. I have a lot of ideas floating around on my computer but not having much luck finishing them.
> 
> This fic has been half-finished on my computer ever since I posted its’ prequel, “In Your Darkest Hour” back in ’09. Inspiration finally struck and I did some major editing and finished it. I really hope you like it, because I’m not sure I write the same as I did back when I started it. I changed a lot about where I was originally taking it; in a way, it’s more of a character study on Sam versus a story of Sam/G healing. 
> 
> I watched the Netflix series “Thirteen Reasons Why” and was really inspired by the look at depression and suicide and victim-blaming that occurs throughout it. I also appreciated the perspective of survivors’ guilt and the effect of depression on the people around a depressed person. I highly recommend the series, even if you haven’t read the book.
> 
> Trigger warnings: talks of suicide/suicidal ideation, depression, abuse, survivor’s guilt and slash. As seen in the prequel, I cover a variety of these topics and don’t really shy away from them. So please, everyone, be safe while reading.

//

“Don’t ask me where I’m going,  
Just listen when I’m gone.  
And far away you’ll hear me,  
Singing softly to the dawn.”

\- Broadway Musical Pippin, “Corner of the Sky”

//

“The past is the beginning of the beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.”

-H.G. Wells

 

//

There are a lot of sayings people use that center around the word ‘dawn’.

The hour is always darkest before the dawn.

A red dawn at morning is a sailor’s warning.

By the dawn’s early light.

The dawn of a new era.

This, the distant dawn.

Dawn.

It’s such a simple thing, really, a single word that signifies the beginning of a new day and the ending of the night. There’s a physical transition that occurs too, noticeable and enviable in its’ solitary beauty. The sky lightens from pitch black to charcoal to light grey, like the ash from a fire drifting on the wind, while the sun rises like a glowing orb to stop above the earth. Pinks and reds and oranges mixed with yellows, pastel in their intensity, streak through the turning sky to create a new start to the day. 

Most look forward to the dawn, to the new day and the events that will occur throughout. They awaken from their slumber as sun pours through their windows and go about their daily routine of shower, shave, eat before making their dutiful way to work or school. Though every day seems nearly the same and at times monotonous, this is the path of their life and for most, they are content. 

Sometimes people welcome the coming morning because it is a way to escape the night, as nighttime can be both easy and hard. At night, we sleep, and in our sleep come dreams, both the pleasant and the undesirable. Dreams are hard to fight, especially nightmares, and often the torments faced are enough for us to despise the night and its’ beckoning embrace. 

And because of nightmares, of terrors and deeply-hidden fears and even those not-so hidden, we are afraid of the night. 

But there’s another saying, one that signifies hope and faith in something beyond the present. 

However long the night, the dawn will break.

It is a promise and a prayer, a blessing and a straining curse, and it is often what allows people to hold on to life even when they think they can’t.

~*~*~*~

He’s standing in the doorway of a familiar room, white walls and windows looking out at a coming dawn, sunlight streaming through the panes. A solitary figure stands in front, facing out towards the picturesque scene, before turning away and walking forward a few steps. The figure stops nearly in the middle of the room, looks down at an object in his hand, and lets out a final breath before raising his arm in a fluid motion. It is a gun that the other is holding, all cold steel and shattering pain gleaming as sunlight catches the metal, and he feels his breath catch in his throat at the sight. Before he can speak, let alone move, the person he is watching places the gun against his temple and pulls the trigger.

An unearthly yell is released from his chest, a sound somewhere between a wail and a declaration, full of pain, denial and rage, and even as he tries to move, he can’t. He’s stuck there, unable to move and unable to look away from the sight even as he feels his heart and mind shatter from what he has seen.

He stares down at the figure in front of him, wanting nothing more than to rewind time and stop this from happening but it doesn’t work like that, it never has, and all he can do is stare and look and scream and cry and beg for this to be nothing more than a lie. Because it’s his partner he’s looking at, his friend and would-be lover, lying on the floor with a bullet-hole in his head, cherry red blood flowing into his blue eyes, clouded over in the tell-tale sign of death. 

And he can’t take this, he can’t, because he’s seen this before, his partner bleeding and dying in front of him, and if he thought it’d hurt the first time to watch, it was nothing compared to now. His legs give out beneath him and he crashes to the hard floor in front of G, close enough to touch but too afraid to reach out. He feels the sticky blood on the carpet beginning to soak his jeans but he doesn’t move. 

There’s no reason to. His partner is right here. He can’t leave him.

He won’t. 

The others are behind him now but he doesn’t react, knowing it isn’t going to make a difference and not caring enough about their pain to try and comfort them. His partner is dead and nothing will ever make that better. 

Not words. 

His partner is dead.

Not actions.

His partner is dead.

Not a hand on the shoulder.

G is dead. 

Not a funeral.

He’d put a gun to his head-

Not even time. 

-and pulled the fucking trigger.

Please, God, not him. Please. 

I need him. 

He screams it over and over in his heart and his head and doesn’t really know the difference between them anymore. He stays there for an undeterminable time before he hears a voice speaking to him from behind.

“This isn’t how it happened.”

And everything changes.

~*~*~*~

The next thing he sees is the ocean, beautiful sea-green water mixed with pure white foam, churning lightly and crashing waves against each other and the sand along its’ edge. He himself is standing there in the sand, far enough that his boots won’t get wet but close enough to smell the salt in the water, hands in his pockets as he faces out at the water.

He’s always liked the beach and he loves the water; in fact, it’s one of the reasons he’d became a SEAL. Sometimes he misses it; the smell, the feel, the freedom of being on the open water and hiding beneath its calm surface. Sometimes he doesn’t.

This is one of those times. 

As much as he’d like to enjoy the view, he’d rather try and understand just what the hell is going on. 

But the last thing he could remember was-

No.

-blood congealing on a cold floor accompanied by the acrid smell of gunpowder burning in the air- 

No.

-and his partner with a bullet in his brain.

Goddammit, G. God damn you.

“I think God’s going to damn me for a lot of things, Sam. This isn’t one of them.”

He swung his head to the left so hard his neck cracked loudly in the suddenly still air, and his eyes landed on the man standing next to him, arms loose by his side as he stared ahead at the water. All thoughts flew out of his head at the sight of G, looking calm and safe and alive, no gun in sight, and he mouths soundlessly at what he’s seeing. Confused doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“How-? What-? How did-? You-. G?”

A small smile crosses the other man’s lips.

“It wasn’t real, Sam. I didn’t die. You stopped me, remember?”

At his words, it all comes flooding back, and the relief that fills him is so great and so wonderful that he nearly collapses under it. He turns to face his partner, needing to look at him and really make sure that he’s okay, and isn’t surprised to find G facing him also. They stand there on the sand, bodies facing each other and eyes ensnared, blue meeting brown with affection and warmth, for an indefinite amount of time. Then G reaches a hand up to Sam’s face, barely brushing his cheek and quirks his lips, sad yet empty, something that causes his heart to twist and a cold chill to race down his spine.

“You saved me, Sam. You always do.”

His hand drops from Sam’s face.

“But what will happen when you can’t?”

And before Sam can reply or reach out to the other man, G smiles, cherry-stained lips foreboding in the dawning mist, and raises a 9mm to his head, pulling the trigger.

He stands there under a quickly darkening sky with the cooling body of his love, shivering in the chilly wind, red blood splattered across his face like paint on a canvas, his mind blank except for a single thought.

“I can’t lose him.”

The churning sea howls back no answer.

Unbeknownst to him, he is not alone. 

~*~*~*~

Standing on a group of rocks looking down at the two men, one alive and one not, are two little girls holding hands. The wind dances through their blond hair, the ringlets becoming tangled even more by the elements, and yellow-green eyes like wolves fixed piercingly on the scene below them. The first of the girls speaks, her voice like nails clawing against the silence.

“Silly little boy. Why does he make it harder than it needs to be?”

The other one runs a hand down her front, smoothing the grey dress she is wearing, and a drop of blood drips from the hem to land on the rock she is standing on. 

“Because it’s their way. Don’t worry. He’ll learn soon enough.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

The wind picks up, swirling viciously around them, nipping at their clothes and hair. The blood-stained grey material flies in the breeze, scattering warm drops of blood across their faces and arms. 

The second looks back down at the one man still standing, then stares up at the sky as she replies.

“Then they are both lost. And you know what happens to lost things.”

The first one tilts her head and finishes the statement.

“They’re not always found.”

~*~*~*~

He doesn’t jerk awake like most people do from nightmares, outwardly venting his torment in screams or cries. Instead, he simply opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling above him, fading shadows of his dream waltzing across the white surface. He breathes deeply, slowing his rapid pulse, and waits for his inner calm to equilibrate throughout his mind and body. After a few moments, the dream fades momentarily from his thoughts, and he sits up quietly on the bed, careful not to disturb the other occupant with his movements, before climbing just as carefully from it and walking quietly to the doorway of the bedroom.

He’s three steps away from it when he freezes in his tracks, all thoughts fleeing his mind as every muscle in his body is paralyzed in sudden fear, and he knows that he won’t be able to walk through the door, he cannot, because if he leaves, he’s afraid that the other person still in the bed won’t be there when he comes back. Even more so, he’s afraid of being away from the other for too long, as if at any moment something or someone will come along and snatch him away. 

And it is the fear of losing him that turns him away from the door back towards the bed, settling into the armchair conveniently located right next to the other man, and inwardly telling himself that it’s only going to be for the one night, that this will not happen again.

What he conveniently ignores is the fact that this has already happened more than once and doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.

But as he sits there in the dark of the room, gazing through the inky black, he can’t help but soften inwardly at the look of quiet peace etched across the face of the man in his bed. It’s a nice change to the nightmares of times before, and he thinks he could get used to this.

Hell, Sam would give up sleep for the rest of his life if it meant that his partner felt comforted and secure in both his presence and his bed. 

He settles in for the rest of the night, eyes firmly fixed on Callen’s face, watching for any hint of disturbance, and vows to ignore his own nightmares. They’re just dreams, he thinks, nothing more. He’s been through enough in his life to warrant a few bad ones, and between the shooting and Callen’s attempted suicide, there’s plenty enough material for him to stay awake for weeks.

And as the night begins to leave and dawn approaches, the sun rising with the morning, he reminds himself that his partner is alive and safe, that Sam stopped him, and if it’s the last thing he does, he’ll make sure that G won’t ever need to be stopped again.

Besides, G had promised him and Sam had faith in his partner.

He conveniently ignores the fact that faith is very different than trust.

//

Black 9mm, 10-round magazine with a single in the chamber. With a slight twitch, the safety is off. Pull back with one hand. Locked and loaded. 

Save me, Sam.

The sound of a gunshot shattered the silence, followed by the thud of a body hitting floor and a slowly growing puddle of crimson liquid seeping into the carpet. Hand lands next on the ground, still clenched tightly around the grip of the gun, the vise-hold of death still active in the body. 

Save me, Sam.

Empty blue eyes, cerulean rimmed with red, stare out from a pale face, beseeching and crying and begging him with all the torment of a trapped animal while red begins to trickle down the white canvas of the skin. Follow it up to the side of the head and the small, circular hole glares back like a misplaced third eye. Damning and condemning and accusing, like nothing has changed, like he didn’t really stop him from pulling the trigger.

Save me, Sam.

Then he moves slowly, getting to his feet like a colt finding his ground for the first time. The bullet drops out of his forehead to land on the floor with a reverberating clang and the hole slowly heals until there was no sign it was ever there in the first place. And before his eyes, his partner stands, whole and alive, only to raise the gun back to his forehead and repeat the process, over and over again in an endless loop.

Save me, Sam.

Bang. Drop. Silence. Stand. Repeat.

Save me, Sam.

He’s trapped and alone with the ever-dying body of his partner and he wonders if this is how people lose their mind. Does insanity come before the cracking of the mind, or does the mind crack and insanity follows?

Paradox is as paradox does. 

This time, he paces in the small area at the foot of the bed, running the same thought over and over in his head, trying to find the message; the meaning to what his mind is showing him. And he just might have it figured out.

Is there a difference, he thinks, between stopping someone and saving them?

//

It’s a corner that you turn  
It’s a lesson that you learn in time  
It’s a worry that you feel  
Another scar that you conceal from sight

When the sound of gunshots impacting flesh and the feel of blood soaking his skin wakes him in the night, Sam thinks. He thinks about a lot of things. He thinks about searching, about hunting down the people who’d dared to shoot his partner. He thinks about killing them, about littering their bodies with five bullets like they did to Callen, maybe even adding a few for himself. He thinks about how he’d cover it up. He thinks about where he’d hide the bodies. He thinks about how he’d be able to get away with it. A small part of him cowers in fear at just how well he’s thought this out. 

But it’s a very small part.

And when thinking no longer works in keeping the memories away, he wonders. He wonders if it wouldn’t be better if he never closed his eyes again. He wonders how to keep his partner safe, and then wonders who Callen needs to be protected from more, others or himself. When he’s woken by his partners’ fitful sleep, he wonders what haunts his dreams. He wonders what he’s afraid of. He wonders if there’s anything he could ever really do for Callen. And he wonders why it hurts so much, being unable to help.

He wonders and he thinks and he ponders and he dreams and at the end of it all, he’s left with one thought. 

Sleep is really overrated.

//

Have I been away  
too long for me to say?  
Have I been away  
too long for things to change?  
From a runaway train  
Caught beneath the wheels  
Of a runaway train

For Sam, nighttime used to be a welcome respite from the harsh light of day. He’s not afraid of the dark or the shadows, not afraid of what is hiding from daylight or lurking about in the alleys and crevices of society. In a way, he still isn’t; he’s not afraid of the big, bad evil that comes out only at night or of what likes to go bump in the dark. In fact, fear isn’t the word he’d use to describe how he feels now. Apprehensive is more like it, of what night will bring for him in both his head and in reality. Dread is another word too; dread at what thoughts and images will be conjured by his ever-slipping sanity as it attempts to process and make sense of a senseless act. 

It's strange how things can change, and how quickly they do. Sleep used to be a relief, a way to shift from one day to the next, and oftentimes his one way to forget the horrors that had occurred. When he awoke the next morning, it was often with a new perspective on the events prior and, while not always acceptable (like bullets and blood and sand and ghosts), in the bright light of day, they didn’t seem as traumatic. 

But life changes. People change. And the night no longer seems welcoming and the day no longer seems safe. How can they, when neither is the escape that they used to be?

So now he doesn’t sleep as much or as deeply as he used to. Not just because of the dreams, but because it’s simply too hard after walking in on Callen holding a gun to his own head. It’s too hard to close his eyes when he’s afraid that at some point when they’re closed, his partner is going to disappear. 

He isn’t sure what hurts more about that, the thought that Callen would be gone or that it might be at his own hand. 

Suicide. It’s such an ugly word, chilling and empty and so fucking scary that his heart always stutters at its presence. Applying it to his partner is even worse, because he’d never thought things would go that far. He’d never thought he would let them go that far. But he can’t deny that it has always been one of his deepest fears about his partner, ever since the first time he’d really seen a glimpse of the shattered man beneath the mask nearly two months after being assigned together. It takes a strong will to survive the kind of life G has lived, and Sam knows that his partner is strong, but sooner or later, everyone reaches their breaking point. He’d just always thought (or maybe hoped) that he would see it coming, in order to lessen the fallout.

He hadn’t been prepared to walk in on his partner about to shoot himself and honestly, he should have been. He’d seen the warning signs, hell, everyone had and yet, they’d all ignored it, because nobody had thought Callen would snap. But he should’ve known. He should’ve done something. It’d been screaming in his gut for weeks that something was wrong with his partner and he’d ignored it. There was no forgiving that, and that was good, because he didn’t deserve forgiveness and entertained no notions of asking for it. 

He’d done a lot of unforgiveable things in his life, but not one of them could compare to nearly killing his partner. 

Because that’s what he’d done, and to make matters worse, he’d done it more than once.

He hadn’t had Callen’s back on that sunny day when gunshots had shattered calm silence, hitting his partner and ripping him into pieces that would never fit back together quite right. And Sam could have lived with that, would have been fine with protecting the man who could never fundamentally change in his eyes, except his partner couldn’t, hadn’t been able to handle what had happened. He’d changed until he’d become someone nearly unrecognizable; a man who jumped at shadows and heard shots in his head and drank until he’d snapped completely. 

He’d failed here too, in that moment, that heart-stopping moment where he’d watched as his partner and friend had placed cold steel against heated skin and attempted to destroy the demons in his head with a bullet in the brain. Because for all his love and all his care, he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the person he had sworn he would watch over. He hadn’t seen the silent cries for help, the desperate pleas to be held above the surface, and the hands that reached out for an anchor in the storm of pain. Hadn’t seen the paranoia or the lack of sleep or the slowly slipping mind of his partner into the dark shadows of his past. 

He’d been blind to it all. Blind and deaf and utterly clueless to the agony of a person closer to him than even himself, and his blindness had nearly cost him everything. 

They say suicide is a sin. But Sam doesn’t think so. 

The real sin, he thinks, is that a person could ever feel so much pain that death is the only solution; that the only way to survive is by not. The real sin is the blindness and ignorance of people, because it those things that can kill a person, that can cause them to drown.

Those things can take a person just on the ledge, and gently, gently tip them over. 

And Sam is guilty.

Such a long line of sins and he doesn’t think he can ever be clean of them all. And a part of him doesn’t want to be, because forgiveness and absolution are the doors to repetition, and he refuses to let them occur again. No, these mistakes will never happen again because if there’s one thing life has taught him it is that he must always learn from his mistakes. Those who don’t learn from the past are, after all, doomed to repeat it and he knows deep down that he wouldn’t be the one to pay for it. 

An unacceptable risk. An intolerable cost. All of it leading to unbearable consequences, just like before. 

Except he won’t allow it. He can’t let himself ever be that blind again. 

But another problem is that, deep down, he isn’t sure that he can forgive G for nearly putting a bullet in his head. 

He doesn’t blame Callen for trying; he blames him for almost succeeding. If Sam hadn’t walked in at that exact moment, if he hadn’t have gone to that room, if he hadn’t been able to talk him down, his partner would be dead. 

That’s far too many ifs for his comfort.

And how selfish is that, that he can ignore the pain his partner must have been in and how desperate Callen must have felt, and think only on how betrayed he feels?

It’s no wonder why Callen hadn’t come to him for help, considering how many times Sam has let him down. Because even now, after everything that’s happened and everything he’s realized, he’s still failing him.

He’s failing him by not knowing how to help him. But, how could he?

Sam doesn’t even know how to help himself.

//

Every moment of the day  
I feel it crumbling away if I,  
I only have myself to blame  
For all the cracks within the frame that I find 

No matter how many showers he takes, he’ll never be able to get all the blood off. 

He scrubs and he scrubs until his own mocha skin is red and angry, angry like his own sorrow-tinged temper. Because the feeling of Callen’s blood on his hands, drenching his shirt, and splattered across his face as he chokes and coughs on the liquid will never go away. It’s in his dreams and his head, his thoughts and his sorrows, and it is a horror that does not fade. It haunts him, in a way so few things ever have, because it a reminder of his failures and a reminder of his fears. 

But now the nightmares are invading the day, the images that haunt him causing damage even when he is awake.

When he’d walked into the kitchen and seen blood, he’d nearly lost everything in his stomach at the sight of it. It’d been a small amount, really, just a few drops on the counter and on the tip of the knife, but it’d been enough to catapult Sam from the reality in front of him, to the dreadful images in his head. The only thing that had pulled him out had been his name, spoken by his partner, and everything had snapped back into place. 

Callen was fine, a minor injury to his finger by a knife he’d been using to cut a piece of fruit. Nothing life threatening, nothing intentional, all a normal, everyday accident outside of anyone’s control. Sam had swallowed hard, smiled and laughed it off as he’d helped his partner wrap it up, before excusing himself to take a shower. It was only once he was safely ensconced in the smaller room that he’d given in to his panic, nearly hyperventilating as his brain chased itself with all the possibilities. 

He’d tried to tell himself that it’d been an accident, that it happened to everyone. But his brain had then reminded him that the time before wasn’t an accident, because there was nothing accidental about a suicide attempt. He’d countered that he’d managed to stop him the first time and he would see it coming the second. And his traitorous thoughts had whispered no you won’t even as he’d said I will!

Sam is arguing, with himself, inside his own head.

He laughs, a derisive sound, as the realization that he is utterly losing his shit hits him.

Then the laugh becomes a sob, and he braces himself against the shower wall, letting his head hang directly under the spray, ignoring the rush of salt mixing with the clear water. 

Staying asleep and taking a shower; two completely normal, everyday activities that are now impossible to do without nearly having a nervous breakdown. 

Damn you, G. Damn you.

Immediately, he feels contrite, because the real truth is that it isn’t his partner’s fault, it’s Sam’s. 

No, not you. Me. Damn me. 

He’d thought that there could be nothing worse than holding his partner in his arms as he’d bled out, shot five times. But he’d been wrong. 

Very wrong.

Because now his head is no longer filled with images of hot, red blood pouring over his hands. Instead it is filled with a single gunshot reverberating through the room accompanied by the warm spray of blood across his face. Just like in his dreams. The only thing he ever seems to dream. 

He’s decided that watching G hold a gun to his head and nearly pull the trigger is the worst thing in the world. And that’s saying something, because he’s seen some bad shit. 

But it makes sense, in a dark and twisted way that should never be anywhere near right, because the things that hurt the most, the things that haunt people, are the things that hurt the people you love. 

And Sam loves G. He’s realized it, thought about it, and accepts that it’s just a fact of his life. 

It really hadn’t taken him very long either. A part of him thinks he’d known all along and had simply been waiting for the right moment. Another part thinks that he’d known, deep down, that Callen wasn’t ready for them to become more than they were. His partner wasn’t comfortable with affection or love or any emotion similar to those; hell, G was barely able to handle the friendship they had. 

And that friendship had barely been enough to save him, to keep him holding on to the living instead of escaping with the dead. Sam had used it, though, used everything he could draw between them to offer a rope to the man drowning in front of him.

It had worked. He’d never know exactly what it was he’d said that convinced G to lower the gun, and maybe it wasn’t even words. Maybe it had been the sheer desperation in his words and eyes and voice that had done it. Whatever it was, it had worked, and he’d nearly fallen over in relief when his partner had handed him the gun. He’d never been more thankful in that moment, and in the moment after when he’d been able to embrace the other man and hold him in his arms, grounding him and supporting him through the emotional upheaval.

The relief, however, had quickly worn off and been swallowed up by the severity of the situation that had occurred. 

And when he’d carried the smaller man to the couch downstairs, the one G always claims for sleep, Sam felt such a thread of fear running through him, he imagined that it’s humming. It was impossible for him to leave his partner’s side, not after nearly losing him for good, and the others had given him space. There was a storm brewing in his eyes, lighting them with a gathered heat, but he was unaware of it because to his conscious mind, the furthest thing on it was his anger. That would come later, vented on a punching bag until he’s exhausted and bleeding, and then soothed by the presence of his partner, safe and alive and here. 

Instead, in that moment, he’d felt inescapably lost, more than he’d ever felt before in his life. 

And standing in the shower, with the memory of blood on the counter and blood on a hand, that feeling, that familiar, dreadful, choking sense of loss, is clawing at him now.

Because the whole situation is a scene out of his nightmares and the one thing he hates most about his haunted dreams is his inability to stop them from happening. 

They make him feel helpless and one thing that Sam doesn’t do well is helplessness. 

//

Have I been away  
too long for me to say?  
Have I been away  
too long for things to change?

He doesn’t know how to stop being afraid.

G around guns. G around knives. G around windows. G holding a 9mm to his head and pulling the trigger. 

He can’t do this. He can’t trust himself to trust Callen, not when it comes to his partner’s safety. 

Because when G is in danger, Sam reacts. Violently. With fists. And the occasional gunshot.

But how does he deal with the threat when it’s Callen that’s doing the threatening?

He goes to Nate for help and he thinks the psychologist might just die of shock. Sam Hanna asking for help in dealing with G. Callen? Never a good sign. 

Because Sam has always handled G, without outside interference, because he’s the only one who could. Around anyone else, Callen shuts down, latches barriers, closes himself into a cage of his own making. But not Sam. 

When he’s with Sam, it’s the only time his eyes are alive, and it’s one of those things that has just always been. 

Nate isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Kensi has. Eric has. Dom has. And Hetty always has, from the very beginning. 

Sam knows it too. 

The problem is that Sam knows how to protect his partner. It’s taking care of him that’s a lot harder, because G is like a recalcitrant child; stubborn and unrelenting and so damned protective of himself. He hides and he hedges and he never really admits to anything, nor does he share any part of himself. He’s been hurt too many times before and only ever had himself to do the healing, and he doesn’t know how to do, be, anything else. 

Sam knows that his partner has learned a lesson that no child should ever learn and it is a lesson not so easily undone. It was learned through pain and blood and tears and has become a fundamental part of his partner, a cornerstone of the foundation of all he knows. And he hates it, while at the same time grateful, because deep down he knows that if Callen had never learned how to protect himself in his childhood, he wouldn’t have lived through it to be alive today.

He wouldn’t be the man, the good, strong, brave man, that he is today.

And even though G has promised him, promised from the very depths of his soul, that he won’t do it again, won’t hurt himself, won’t pull the trigger with the barrel on his temple, Sam cannot stop being afraid. 

Because knowing that you are the only reason the man you love is alive, because of a promise he made to you, is both overwhelming and frightening. While it makes his heart ache at the trust, it also makes his blood run cold at the fear of what will happen when that reason is no longer enough. When he is no longer enough.

And Sam doesn’t like feeling afraid. 

It feels far too much like being helpless.

//

From a runaway train  
Caught beneath the wheels  
Of a runaway train  
I know how it feels,  
To be a runaway train.  
It’s alright, it’s ok, it’s alright

Sometimes when he looks at G, he feels so old because it’s like looking at the child his partner had been, once upon a time. And he very nearly feels like a cradle robber, like he’s stealing away an innocence and youth that’s rare and precious. Like butterfly wings and puppy dog tails and sugar and spice makes everything nice, and one thing he’s learned, one thing he knows, is that it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird. 

But in other moments, he’s never felt so young, because when he looks at his partner, he sees a person so burdened and trialed, like there’s never been a day where they weren’t faced with some kind of problem. There are lines on his partner’s face that look deeper than the scars that cross his body, ones that tell a more painful tale than even five bullet holes. And he hates it; hates that this man who’s come to mean more than even his own family has never seemed to know anything else in life except the pain and the hate and the destruction human beings bring upon each other. 

He’s tried to fix it. Not fix his partner, because there’s nothing broken about Callen, but fix the cracks in their relationship, even if he barely knows what they are. Because they must exist, they have to, because it’s the only thing that explains how they ended up here. Lost and alone amidst the shards of shattered trust and sometimes, he’s afraid that nothing he does will ever be enough for his partner. And that hurts, because Callen has never really had anything or anyone that’s his, and for Sam to not be enough means that something is wrong with Sam. 

He doesn’t know what to do about that. He doesn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, Sam needs G more than G needs Sam.

And Sam needs G to be safe. He’ll do anything within his power to ensure it. 

He’s always watched Callen; during briefings, on stakeouts, sitting on the couch. He’s sure the others have noticed, too, how often his eyes are on Callen, but everybody knows it’s one of those things you just don’t mention.

It’s how he knows stuff about Callen. His favorite candy? Lollipops. When he’s finding a new place to sleep (because Callen doesn’t live anywhere, never has, but Sam has the hope that maybe someday he will, preferably with him) and where to pick him up when he’s packed. 

After the shooting, it’d gotten worse. He’d been too afraid to leave his side, let alone take his eyes off of him. He’d worried about the motel rooms, about a phone call in the night; about walking into work and being told by Hetty that the guys who had shot Callen the first time had come back to finish him off. He’d felt panicked every time his partner had brushed off his offers of a couch and a meal, every time he’d slipped away into the shadows of the night with nothing but a smirk and a wave over his shoulder; every time he’d been left standing alone with only the fading scent of the other man to keep him company even as he’d held his breath, hoping, praying, that the next day would bring Callen back again. 

And now, he’s not sure what to do. Because with all his watching and all his protecting, he hadn’t been able to do the one thing that he’d always been sure of. 

Protecting Callen from himself. 

He’d never thought it’d become a problem. Despite everything he’d known about his partner, he hadn’t expected this. Or maybe, just maybe, Sam hadn’t wanted to face it. 

Had he, too, fallen for the mask, that damned façade Callen threw up whenever he wanted, using it for protection and safety? He’d known from the start that Callen had it, used it on nearly everyone he crossed paths with. But he’d never seen Callen use it on him. Hadn’t thought he ever would. Hadn’t even thought he could.

Now he wonders if he’d ever really seen anything at all. 

// 

You in the dark  
You in the pain  
You on the run  
Living a hell  
Living your ghost  
Living your end  
Never seem to get in the place that I belong  
Don't want to lose the time  
Lose the time to come 

 

He isn’t the only one with bad dreams. Callen has them too. Except Callen’s are violent in their intensity, accompanied by thrashing and hitting and terror-filled sounds ripped from his throat. Sam has difficulty getting close to him, having to dodge and move quickly to avoid being punched in the face, until he can get right into his partners’ space and ease him awake. 

It hurts at these times. Hurts so much, and he’d rather get punched in the face a dozen times than see the look on Callen’s face whenever he wakes. Because there’s always fear in his partners’ eyes, in those miniscule moments between dreaming and waking, a fear directed towards the presence that Callen senses near him. And even though the fear isn’t because of Sam, it still hurts to see that fear directed at him, even if it is for only a second. 

In these darker times, after nightmares of bad memories and terrors that make his partner gasp for breath in the dark, he wonders what G did in another life to deserve everything that’s happened to him.

It’s not like Sam hasn’t had bad things occur in his life or that he’s never been in pain. It just seems, though, that every time he turns around, it’s his partner who gets hurt. And it’s not just physically, gunshots and concussions and lashes and burns, but mentally, like the blows have to land somehow and someway, painfully and memorably, always on G. 

It isn’t fair, but life isn’t fair. 

And he knows that Callen thinks he could never understand what it’s like to survive when you don’t want to or to feel so broken and cracked inside it’s impossible to breathe. But Callen is wrong, because Sam does understand, he’s felt it too, and a sunny day riddled by the sound of bullets hitting flesh killed him in ways he didn’t think could ever be brought back. 

This job takes everything. Sometimes he hates it. Hates it in a way he’s never hated anything else. Hates it like bullets and blood-smeared flesh, like blue eyes clouded over with pain, like being helpless and afraid and alone. 

Hates it, like all of the above. 

Because it was this job that hurt his partner, this job that got him shot, this job that nearly killed the one thing in his life Sam could never live without. It was this job that dragged his partner to a ledge, pushed him over without even blinking and didn’t care whether or not there was a net to catch him.

It was this horrible, miserable, fucking mess of a job that destroyed an already broken man. 

At other times, he’s nearly grateful, because it was this job that brought Callen to him and into his life. It was this job that gave him his friend, his partner, his everything wrapped in barbed wire dipped in cyanide, and Sam cannot imagine never having him. 

Actually, he has, and that’s what makes him dream of bullets and blood, of death and despair; of falling and breaking and being damned through it all. 

It’s an ugly cycle but cycles are like tides. They come and they go, rise and fall, wane and ebb. Through it all, you fight.

And sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. But in the end, you survive. 

Even if it seems like surviving is so much harder than living.

// 

Whatever you say it's alright  
Whatever you do it's all good  
Whatever you say it's alright  
Silence is not the way  
We need to talk about it  
If heaven is on the way  
If heaven is on the way

He thinks he might finally understand why the sight of a gun in his partners’ hands terrifies him. It isn’t the gun itself, though the gun does give him pause, but at the symbolic meaning of it all.

It is what the gun represents. For Callen, it is safety and protection, but it is also his way out. It was an escape, from all the screams and cries of himself and the other boys he knew, from every horrible memory and every trauma he’d ever faced; an escape from a life that he deemed no longer worth living.

It’s a culmination of everything that’s hurt G before; every abusive foster home and all the negligent adults and too-late cops and sick men that thought they had the right to take innocence from little boys in the night. And the fresher, more recent trauma, of being shot in the middle of the street less than 10 feet from his partner.

He hates the gun because G has every right to want to use it to end his pain, every right to want to silence the screams, and every right to seek peace. And for Sam, he hates the gun because he loves it too. Loves its’ protection and security, its’ link to duty and honor; loves it because it is an integral link to the cornerstones of his identity. And now the gun has been tarnished in his sight, because he can never forget the moment that his partner held it to his head and threatened to pull the trigger.

It is a dissonance he can barely tolerate, the gun he loves taken over by the one he hates, and threatens everything he’s ever known about himself. 

And if Callen had pulled the trigger, Sam thinks it might have killed him too. Because how could he have continued living, with the weight of it all on him?

// 

You in the sea  
On a decline  
Breaking the waves  
Watching the lights go down  
Letting the cables sleep

The demons were particularly loud tonight. 

He shakes his partner then, grip on his upper arms tight enough to bruise, desperately needing him to wake up. He needs him to stop dreaming, needs him to escape the nightmare he’s caught in, needs him to open those baby blue eyes and look at him as something other than the monsters of his past. He needs to be able to pull him close, to wipe the sweat from his face and close the scars on his soul; needs to be able to do something, anything, other than sit here and feel so completely helpless. He cannot be useless, he can’t, because if he is, then he can’t help, and Callen needs Sam to help him. 

Sam needs a lot of things, but nothing more than G, safe and awake and happy.

No. Fuck happiness. He’d settle for anything remotely similar to okay. 

Because G is the only thing that matters to him. Without him, there’s no point in anything. 

And Sam will save his partner the only way he knows how.

He’ll save him by being there, through the darkest nightmares and the saddest tears, the highest mountains and the lowest depths, and never turning away from the things that make him scream. Because G has been hurt, been broken and shattered and twisted by too many people, and what he needs is for someone to be the opposite of all he’s ever had. 

So, Sam switches tactics and stops trying to shake his partner awake. Instead, he places his hands gently on both sides of G’s face and whispers a jumble of words and promises softly into the air. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything other than use a soft touch and gentle words to ground his partner and remind him that he isn’t as alone as he thinks. 

And it works. 

He draws his partner out of his mind, away from the ghosts and the monsters and the devils trying to stain his soul. He leads him out of the dark of his head and into the dark of the night; then, goes a bit further and brings him into the safety of his own presence. 

Like always, it isn’t pretty. It is choking and heart-wrenching to watch his partner shake awake with a face wet with tears, to flinch away from Sam before nearly throwing himself into his arms. 

But it makes a difference, because in this moment, looking down into the shattered features of his partner, Sam has an epiphany. 

It’s not about what Sam needs or wants. 

It’s about what G needs, what G wants. 

And Sam will do whatever it takes to give it to him. What Callen needs takes precedent above everything. 

Need and want go hand in hand, and I will give him both. A vow. An oath. All things he’s good at. What’s one more, especially one for the person who means the most to him?

So, he swears it to himself and he promises it out loud and even though he can tell that Callen does not believe him, that’s okay, because Sam has plenty of time to prove it to him. And it’s one step closer to saving his partner by giving him one of the things that he needs: someone that will put G first.

It doesn’t matter what’s happened before. It doesn’t matter how many times Sam has failed his partner. It doesn’t matter how angry he is or how scared he is or how guilty and blind and helpless he is. The only thing that matters is now, and how he’s going to take care of G now.

Sooner or later, G will realize that Sam wants nothing more than to give him whatever he needs, be it a shoulder to cry on, a friend to talk to, or a lover to kiss away the nightmares. Sam knows that G will come to him when he’s ready. One day.

Someday. 

 

// 

Whatever you say it's alright  
Whatever you do it's all good  
Whatever you say it's alright  
Silence is not the way  
We need to talk about it

Someday comes a lot sooner than he’d expected but that’s just fine with him. He’s there for his partner no matter the day or time, because the only thing that Sam needs is G. 

When it happens, it’s almost anticlimactic. He isn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it wasn’t for Callen to turn to him after dinner and say that he wanted to talk.

From the look on his partners’ face, Sam knows exactly what he wants to talk about, and a part of him is afraid to hear it. But a deeper part knows that this is exactly what G needs, what they both need, in order to deal with the past few weeks. Not talking about things are what led them on the road to ruin, and Sam never wants his partner to think that there are things that can’t be talked about. 

He looks at the other man, waiting for him to speak even as he knows exactly what will emerge from G’s mouth. Because these secrets that he’s about to tell aren’t truly secret, because if there’s one thing Sam is good at, it is reading G, and in all the glances and all the looks, he’s realized a few things. And though the secrets G’s been keeping don’t matter to Sam, knowing that he has to wait for Callen to come to him, it doesn’t stop the hurt and rage from forming in his chest.

And it does form, hot like molten lava as Callen describes a past of systemic abuse and neglect all melding together to form the man his partner has become. It isn’t easy to hear how all the past trauma in Callen’s life had blended together with the shooting, how it had made it difficult for him to sleep and impossible for him to separate the traumas from one another. How it had culminated in Callen reaching his breaking point that fateful day in that desolate room where the only relief he thought he could find was a bullet to the head.

When Callen stops talking, it is both relief and despair he feels, because he can tell that his partner is waiting for him to react, and all Sam can think is I’ve failed.

This is his partner here, a man that he would do anything for, and to know that someone has hurt him in any way, shape or form makes him want to howl in fury. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair, that G is always the one who hurts, while all Sam can do is attempt to keep him together. But the worst part for Sam is knowing that he doesn’t always succeed, and he knows this because failure has already almost cost him Callen before. Like the time he’d been shot, gunned down in the streets for some stupid fucking reason that would never make any sense. Or the time afterwards, when he’d stepped back and watched as Callen fell apart, only realizing exactly how far he’d let him fall when he’d walked in on Callen with a gun pointed at his own head. 

He’s failed him so many times before that he’s amazed that G would allow Sam into his heart and confidence. He hasn’t done a thing to prove that he deserves it. But then he looks up into the blue eyes of the other man and realizes that all of his past reactions don’t matter to G. What matters is how Sam reacts now. 

In a way, what he sees in G’s eyes is forgiveness; forgiveness wrapped in love, hidden within the other man that he’s pulling out and offering to Sam. Too many people have hurt G, broken him, destroyed his trust and faith, but despite all of it, G is trusting Sam to be different from everyone else. He’s willing to lay his soul bare and trust that Sam will not turn away from all the bruises and cuts and scars that mar it. 

After everything he’s been through, it’d be understandable if he never trusted another soul or allowed someone to get close to his heart. But all of his struggles have only made G stronger and more open to the one man he trusts. The one man he loves. 

This is what makes G different from Sam. 

For Callen, the best thing to happen to him is to hit rock bottom, because only after he hits does he know how to get up. It’s not always easy, not always pretty, but it’s what he’s been doing all of his life and it’s worked for him so far. Most people aren’t like that but Sam also knows that G is not most people. 

It’s one of the things he loves about him.

But Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t react like G. He honestly isn’t sure if he’d be better off if he did.

Because when things fall apart, he retreats, brooding in a quagmire of pain and guilt in his own little corner of solitude. If he hits rock bottom, he sits there and wonders what he did wrong to get himself there. He rethinks his choices, questions his decisions and through it all, torments himself with the guilt, because blame is the one thing he understands well even if it shakes all of his self-confidence.

G is willing to accept a hand up, so long as he can choose the person who’s offering the hand. Sam knows this because he’s the one he knows that G always seems to choose.

This is one way that they are different. It’s also what makes them work so well.

Because they suit each other, Sam and G, G and Sam, and what’s a flaw in one is a strength of the other, and when one needs help, the other will do anything to offer it. They are like pieces of a puzzle and together they fit to fill the spaces of each other. 

But Sam is going to have to do it his partners’ way, because he needs to be there for Callen, needs to be the one offering him a hand like it has always been, and Sam can’t do that if he’s stuck at rock-bottom. 

He’s been given a second chance, a third, really, and he will not waste it, not a second of it, by wallowing in his own guilt and pain and blame. 

Sam reaches a hand out to his partner and doesn’t think for a second the other won’t be there. And he smiles when he catches hold, because sometimes faith really isn’t all that different from trust.

Sometimes, it’s just about reaching out and knowing that you are not alone in the world.

If heaven is on the way  
We'll wrap the world around it  
If heaven is on the way  
If heaven is on the way  
I'm a stranger in this town

//

“They say true love only comes around once and you have to hold out and be strong until then. I have been waiting. I have been searching. I am a man under the moon, walking the streets of earth until dawn. There’s got to be someone for me. It’s not too much to ask. 

Just someone to be with. Someone to love. Someone to give everything to. Someone.”

-Henry Rollins

//

They’re back on the beach, only this time they’re sitting down, G in front of Sam with his back to his chest, Sam’s large and muscular arms wrapped loosely around the smaller man, enclosing him in a comforting embrace. They stare out at the water together and don’t speak, allowing the silence to be words enough for them. There is no need for anything other than this. 

There’s no need for anyone but each other. 

They’ve been through a lot together, but rocky paths make for stronger bonds, and these two have one that is beyond iron-clad. They’ll have their ups and they’ll have their downs and that’s normal. What matters is at the end, they’ll still be together and stronger than before, closer. 

They’ve found something in each other, something that makes living so much easier. It’s a connection that makes the past easier to bear, the present bright enough to see and the future enticing enough to reach for. It won’t be perfect and it won’t be easy but it’ll be worth it, and that’s good enough for them to try. 

~*~*~*~

Sitting on a group of rocks and looking down at the entwined men, two little girls smile, bright green eyes shining with peace and harmony, their golden hair swinging playfully in the breeze. One of them speaks, and her voice is like bells and chimes ringing in the air. 

“They’re quite a match, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are. Did you ever think otherwise? Only those who really want it can ever hope to be found.”

Minutes past before the first one speaks again, a wistful longing present in her voice.

“Can we sleep now, sister? 

“I don’t know.” 

“Why not? We’ve earned it.”

“They’re a handful, these two. I think they need us, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

They stand there for a few moments more before the first one stands and brushes off her purple dress, then holds her hand out to the other. When the second simply stares at the outstretched hand, the first rolls her eyes and stamps her foot lightly.

“Well, we’re not doing them any good just waiting around for them to screw up. When they need us, we’ll know.”

The second one curls her lips up into a smirk, triumph shinning in her green orbs, before taking the proffered hand and standing, brushing her own purple dress. They stand there, hand in hand, dressed in purple and looking for all the world like the royalty of old, before turning as one and walking away down the beach. 

Unbeknownst to them, they weren’t as unseen as they’d thought.

~*~*~*~  
Sam stared into the distance, spotting the two young girls and understanding the message they represent. 

And Sam is grateful, no doubt about it, because he is incredibly lucky to be given this opportunity to be there for his partner. Not everyone gets to save someone they love, to have the chance to walk in at just the right moment and make a difference. To stop a person that they care about from making a decision there is no coming back from, to prove to them that there is life beyond the pain, and someone there in the darkness when they try to reach out. 

To prove to them that there IS someone who cares whether they live or die, who will care even when they themselves cannot.

And it isn’t just in that moment, either. It is all the moments after that count as well. It is in the moments when the depression returns and makes everything seem hopeless. It is in the moments when there is anger, at being saved, and despair at being kept from ending it all. It is in the moments when the pain seems so great that a person becomes entirely numb to it all. 

It is all of those moments and more, that matter; they are the second chances, and the thirds, and the fourths, all the way to infinite, where a person can make a difference.

And if he slips, even the tiniest, Sam has a feeling that there will be two little someone’s, to put him right back where he needs to be.

//

Hetty: “Go with God, Mr. Callen, or whoever it is that watches over you.”

Callen: “I have a guardian angel. She’s tiny, but very tough.”

-NCIS: Los Angeles, “Blood Brothers”

//

End fic.

**Author's Note:**

> AN2: I realize that a lot of Sam’s thoughts are repetitive but what I was trying to demonstrate here is that both Callen’s shooting and attempted suicide were very traumatic for both men. Sam is also suffering from survivors’ guilt for the shooting and his own form of depression, as well as pure guilt for not seeing Callen’s depression. It’s not easy for the depressed and suicidal person, but neither is it easy for the people in that person’s life. That’s what I am trying to illustrate here. In no way am I attempting to trivialize Callen and his experiences; I addressed those in “In Your Darkest Hour” and here, I wanted to focus purely on Sam. Please, let me know if I haven’t done this topic justice or if any way I’ve portrayed these themes is offensive. That is not my intention at all.
> 
> Song lyrics in italics is the first song, “Runaway Train” by Oleander. The second song is in bold, and is “Letting the Cables Sleep” by Bush.
> 
> Any reviews would be appreciated.


End file.
